


Set Free

by orphan_account



Series: Arta and Merlin (Genderbent Universe) [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Merlin is the legendary sorceress who is wanted by any means necessary for the crime of magic.Crown Princess Arta of Camelot is sent to capture her and return to the Kingdom. What happens when Merlin shows Arta a different side of magic she never knew before? The trials they face along their journey force them to question everything they had once believed to be true about each other--and of themselves.





	1. The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> -M

Arta was exhausted. 

She was cold, hungry, and very,  _ very _ worn down, more than she would have liked to admit. 

She was riding down the road, dressed in a deep green cloak, and a simple tunic. This was to help her to blend in as a normal peasant. Her usual red cloak and armor would be a dead giveaway to her true identity, as Princess. Her sword, however, was still belted securely at her side. No good in leaving that behind, that was for sure. 

Not on the mission she was currently undertaking. 

So far, she had had luck. She had met no obvious threats along her way, but the goal of her quest was far more dangerous. She was to face one of her kingdom’s greatest threats: sorcery. 

She was to put her life at risk in order to rid her kingdom of this threat. It was a challenge which she had accepted with no hesitation whatsoever. 

As princess and heir to the throne of Camelot, it was her sworn duty to fulfill the task the Queen, her mother, had given her. 

She was to find a sorceress, rumored to be extremely powerful, and dangerous. After finding them, she was then to return to Camelot with them alive to face a trial for their crimes. 

The Queen had been adamant that the sorceress be brought to justice in their court, and Arta couldn’t do much other than agree with her. After all, such a direct danger to their kingdom could not be tolerated. 

Not only that, but she was by herself on this quest. Her mother had not wanted to put her in such possible danger, but she had refused any other knights to come along with her. This was a quest she wanted to complete alone. 

A quest she would succeed by herself. 

A chance to prove her worth. 

She had still not found the perpetrator yet, but it was only a matter of time. She was an exceptionally skilled hunter and tracker. Nothing would make its way past her. 

Well...except perhaps, in this storm. 

The wind howled all around her. Rain beat down in heavy droves, dousing her completely. Through her dark cloak, she shivered, and gripped the reins tighter. 

How was she to find the sorceress in this dreadful weather? 

As if in answer to her unspoken question, thunder suddenly flashed across the sky in a great arc of light and sound which momentarily blinded her. Her horse, unfortunately, did not take too kindly to the display of nature, and reared up onto its back hooves. Arta, even being an experienced rider, couldn’t hang on. The horse’s motion was far too violent, and she was thrown off its back. She rolled on to her stomach on the ground, dazed. 

“ _ Wait _ !” She shouted, one hand outstretched after the animal as it galloped away. But it was of no use. Her only means of transportation was long gone. 

So much for proving her worth. Her hopes began to crumble, and she shook her fist furiously at the sky, releasing a yell which her mother would have deemed completely inappropriate for a princess. 

But no matter. 

She was completely frustrated, and her chances at continuing with the quest looked slim without a ride. Worse still, the horse had taken off with most of her supplies. All she had left was a half-empty purse, and her sword. 

Under these conditions, she would have very little hope of catching the sorceress at this point. But it couldn’t be helped. She would have to put that aside for later. 

Finding shelter was her first priority for now. 

She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and began walking. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

About an hour later, Arta was certain she was fated to die out there, cold and alone. 

It was all too much. The rain, the cold, the bitter tiredness she had from walking for so long, had all caught up to her, it seemed. 

She had come a long way, and yet there was still no sign of shelter. 

She was in the middle of nowhere, and had seen no one. 

She sank to her knees. She couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh; it was funny, wasn’t it, the brave Princess Arta dying on the side of the road by freezing to death in a storm. 

No amount of courage could make up for failing so miserably. 

The Queen would be so ashamed. 

She could barely feel her limbs at all from the chill. She was almost entirely numb, from her head to her toes. 

She raised her head slowly as she heard something miraculous. Voices! 

Someone was coming! 

It took a great deal of strength to get to her feet, but she managed it just as the first man arrived in front of her. Then his fellow men came as well, and before she knew it, she was surrounded. 

 

 Oh. Oh, no. 

Not good at all. 

“Well, look at this, men,” The lead man chuckled, yellowing teeth bared. He held a sword up. “Went looking for a carriage to rob, and found us a lost girl instead. What’re you doin’ out here, lass?” 

Arta swallowed, staring at the sword. What should she do?

Normally, she would threaten them using her authority, but out here, dressed so plainly, she had none. Her head spun. She felt sick. 

“I  _ said _ ,” the lead bandit repeated, more impatiently this time. “What’re you doin’ out here in this storm?” 

“I don’t...have to answer to the likes of  _ you _ .” She heard herself say quietly, but defiant. 

The bold answer might have been a mistake on her part. 

 

The other bandits drew their swords, as their leader laughed. “Well, isn’t the lass brave? Afraid you won’t be for much longer. Hand over the money, and no one’ll get hurt.” 

He pointed his sword at her. 

Making a split decision, she drew her own blade.

“Now the lass knows how to fight.” 

“That’s right,” she said, heart pounding in her chest. 

“And that lass has got a name.  _ Arta of Camelot. _ ” 

The bandits jeered, but looked noticeably hesitant. Their leader looked slightly taken aback, but only for a moment. His arrogance soon returned. 

“So it’s the legendary Crown Princess we’re fightin’, is it?” 

“Correct.” she retorted, standing her ground. It was taking all of her remaining strength to face them. 

“Pretty far from home aren’t you,  _ Princess _ .” The bandits’ leader merely sneered. “Too bad I don’t care if you’re Queen or not.”

He thrust his blade at her chest. 

 

She countered with a block, but she was trembling from the effort. Parry, slash. Thrust, block. Repeat. She matched his every move with confidence. 

She was too tired to keep this up for long, though. It was miracle enough she had not already succumbed in her sorry condition. 

Then, by a stroke of pure luck, she knocked the blade out of the bandit’s hands. Her good fortune was ill-timed, however, and he tackled her with a roar of rage. 

She fell hard to the ground, slamming the back of her head. 

Her vision became blurred, and stars swam at the edge of her vision. She tried to lift the arm holding her sword, but it was too heavy. Her head spun. 

 

The bandit’s breath was foul, and his companions moved in closer in a circle around them. 

“Nice move,  _ your Highness _ ,” he hissed into her face. “But  _ time’s up _ .” 

He yanked the sword from her hand, and held it, point down above her undefended chest. 

She closed her eyes as he plunged the blade down for the kill. 

 

Silence. 

She heard shouts, the sound of footsteps, then nothing. 

She opened her eyes just a crack. 

Someone stood above her, a lone figure. 

 

She tried to make out their features, but could not before she was immersed into darkness. 


	2. The Deal

Merlin wasn’t sure why she did it.

Alright, so maybe she did. Normally, she would just count her luck that the misfortune had missed her, and be on her way, but this time, it was different.

She was running along, trying to get out of the rain, when she saw the group up ahead in the distance.

She squinted. No, not a group. About 5 or 6 men, and a tall woman cloaked in green, holding a sword in front of her, as if in self defense.

Her magic prickled under her skin. A warning. It meant someone was in danger.

She continued towards them, but as quietly as possible. The wind and rain were so loud that she doubted they could hear her from that distance anyways.

She flinched as the woman hit the ground hard, the large man at the front having knocked her down. The woman didn’t move.

The man got ready to stab her with her own sword.

“That’s _enough_.” she called out, coming to a stop a few feet away.

The other bandits turned and laughed riotously at the scrap of a girl who was trying to order them around. In all fairness, it was kind of laughable when you thought about it.

Just not to her.

 

The man who had been about to stab the other woman got off slowly and turned towards her, still clutching the sword firmly in his right hand.

“This is none of your business, girl.” he warned, an ugly sneer on his face. “Now be on your way before we decide this whelp can’t give us the gold we want.”

“I’d say she can’t give you anything, seeing as she’s out cold.” Merlin kept her voice friendly, but stepped forwards. “Now back off.”

“Or what?” The leader raised the sword towards her, snarling. “What could a little kitten like you do, eh?”

“More than you can _possibly_ imagine.” Merlin murmured.

 

Realizing they weren’t leaving willingly anytime soon, she let her eyes glow gold, and flames flickered from her hand.

“Now _leave_ before I _make_ you.” She glowered, her voice ringing with power. Her bright eyes flared, and the fire on her palms danced and grew threateningly to an alarming size.

The men didn’t need a second warning--after a moment’s hesitation they scrambled for the trees.

 

She sighed, and put her hand down, releasing the flames. She never used magic in front of other people if she could help it--let alone threaten them with it. She couldn’t stand causing such violence over her powers. But the warning of her magic often scared people away and prevented her from being forced to hurt them at all.

Once she was sure there were no men left with them, she approached the fallen woman.

The green color of her cloak looked familiar, but it was probably just because it was so commonly-used. She herself had once had a cloak similar to it. The woman’s garb was simple, but rich, but that could still mean anything. A good deal of nobles dressed their servants well after all.

She nudged the woman carefully with her toe. When she didn’t stir, Merlin sighed. She knelt down, and hooked her hands under her arms. Hauling her upright, she nearly collapsed under the weight. Not only was she quite small already, but the woman she was helping seemed to be made of pure muscle, and weighed a lot. She muttered an incantation under her breath to help lighten the load, and began to drag her away. Even with the help of magic, it was no easy feat, and she would have dearly wished for there to be someone to help.

As if on cue, she heard a whinnying sound, and a tan horse came trotting out of the woods, hooves muddy, and flank soaked through by the rain.

On its back, it had a saddle and a traveler’s bag, which Merlin correctly assumed could only belong to the woman herself.

It was only a matter of hauling the woman on top of the horse, and leading it to the nearest inn, a few miles away.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Merlin handed over a fair amount of coins to the innkeeper, and handed over the horse’s reins to the stable boy to be looked after. The unconscious woman was placed in her own room. Well--her and Merlin’s room, apparently. Merlin’s instincts warned her she should probably leave as soon as possible, but she couldn’t resist. She wanted to wait until the woman had awoke, to make sure she was alright.

She got a bowl of warm water and a cloth, and set about to dabbing at the woman’s forehead. Considering how soaked the woman had been, it was very lucky Merlin had found her at all before she died of cold. At the very least, she didn’t seem to have a fever, but still. Merlin wanted to be careful.

She couldn’t quite explain it, but she somehow felt like...she needed to protect this woman. Like she was responsible for her for the time being.

That feeling began to fade as her wrist was suddenly snatched and forced backwards.

She gasped as the grip tightened painfully.

 

“Who are you?” the woman demanded, her voice hoarse. “Where am I?”

Her tone was harsh, a need for immediate answers.

Merlin managed to wrench her hand free before her wrist was broken.

“I’m the one who saved your life,” she answered coolly. She stood and placed the bowl and cloth to the side.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You?”

Distinct disbelief entered her voice.

Merlin shrugged, trying to be casual. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Is that so?”

 

She felt herself blush as the woman’s eyes ran her over, and met her gaze challengingly. After a moment, the woman averted her eyes, flushing slightly. The color drove away the paleness in her cheeks, and Merlin realised that once she dried off, she would be quite attractive.

Silence fell between them. The woman began to get up.

“What are you doing?”

“This isn’t my room.”

“Well, no...it’s mine. But you should lie down. You need rest.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than I look.” Her eyes met Merlin’s in an unspoken challenge, as if daring her to say otherwise.

Merlin sighed in frustration, and looked away. “Excuse me for trying to keep you alive.”

 

To her surprise, the other woman looked away as well. She seemed to be embarrassed.

She cleared her throat and muttered, “I...suppose I should say... _thank you_.”

Merlin turned back towards her, surprised once again. “...You’re welcome.”

She hesitantly smiled at her, and to her delight, the woman managed to give her one in return.

“So how did you end up fighting those bandits?” Merlin asked.

 

The woman rubbed the back of her head, like it was still sore. “It was the storm. My horse was frightened of the thunder, and bolted on me.”

“Well, it came back,” Merlin interjected, hoping to add in some optimism.

“Did it?” The woman looked surprised. When Merlin nodded, she looked relieved. “That’s good. I was worried.”

It was this admitted worry over an animal which caught Merlin’s interest. Most people could care less about what happened to their horses, especially if said horse ran away when they needed them.

 

“Then what?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” The woman remarked, raising her eyebrows.

Merlin shrugged. “Part of my charm.”

She was even more delighted to hear the woman laugh for the first time since she had awoken.

“Of course it is. Well, I was stranded on the road, and tried to find shelter. No luck there, and then the bandits showed up. And well...I assume you know the rest.”

Merlin nodded. “Right.”

 

The silence stretched on a bit from there, and Merlin looked the woman over as they sat there. She was taller than she was, and had a lean build, but strong. Judging from her weight when she had dragged her before, Merlin guessed she was also quite muscular as well. She had bright blue eyes and fair skin. Her hair was still damp from the rain, but she could tell it was golden in color, and cascaded over her shoulders and back.

In return, Merlin could tell the woman was checking her out too. She probably looked a mess in comparison--a peasant girl with short dark hair, simple blue dress, worn brown coat, and a red scarf thrown over her shoulders. She was small, and rather thin, not really strongly-built or muscular like the other woman was. She didn’t really stand out in particular or anything.

“Oh, I can dry your cloak over the fire,” she offered, remembering her manners. “Your boots are already there.”

The woman handed over her cloak, and Merlin walked over to hang it to dry over the warm flames.

When she returned, she sat on the edge of the bed, close to the other woman.

“I’m Merlin.” she said shyly.

She immediately cursed herself silently for giving her name away so readily, but at that moment, she didn’t care. It wasn’t like her, not usually. Usually she was so careful.

But with this woman, right there, right now--Merlin found she couldn’t bring herself to lie about something like her own real name.

There was just something different about her...she could feel it.

“Arta.” The woman replied quietly.

Merlin froze. Maybe she had heard that wrong.

 

“Sorry?” she asked.

“Arta.” The woman repeated, louder.

“What?”

The woman rolled her eyes. She likely thought Merlin was a simpleton for not understanding after the first two times she said the name.

“I _said_ ‘Arta’.”

“Arta.” Merlin repeated, her hopes dimming. “As in A-R-T-A.”

“Yes, and Merlin as in D-E-A-F, I presume.” The woman smirked.

“Ha, ha.” Merlin retorted, although she could feel herself begin to tremble, ever so slightly. She pushed off the bed and stood abruptly, her mind racing.

It wasn't them. It couldn't be.

Perhaps she was...going about this all wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t the person she was thinking of after all. Yes, that was it. It was another person entirely. 

Just a coincidence. 

 

“What’s the matter?” Arta noticed her change in attitude and position.

“N-nothing.” Merlin tried to smile reassuringly back at her. “I just...I think I’ll get some fresh air.” She stumbled towards the door. “Outside. It’s quite nice out.”

“It’s...raining.” Arta pointed out.

Merlin cleared her throat awkwardly, ducking her head. “Right.”

“Did I say something to offend you--” Arta began.

Merlin shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. No, nothing like that. Not at all.”

“Then what’s wrong?” She persisted.

 

When Merlin looked down and refused to answer, she continued, “Look, _Merlin_ , we may have just met, but you seem a decent person. Your kindness will not go unrewarded.”

“I seek no reward,” Merlin mumbled out. “Only to help others in need.”

Arta nodded. “Be that as it may, I won’t let this go without a proper thank you in return.”

“That’s really--really fine,” Merlin stammered. “I just wanted to help. I mean, when you see bandits, and their swords, and they’re out to rob someone, shouldn’t it be everyone’s nature to go help out the victim--”

“Merlin.” Arta said. Merlin ceased her rambling at once. “You saved my life. I am in your debt.”

 

“It’s...no trouble--” Merlin mumbled weakly, but Arta firmly shook her head. “No. It was a sign of bravery, and I want to repay you.”

Merlin’s defenses crumbled. She couldn’t see a way out of this. “Oh, go on then.” she muttered. “Have it your way.”

“When I am well, I will return to my home, and I promise I will give you whatever you wish for.”

“Really?” Merlin tensed. “Anything at all?”

Arta dipped her head graciously. “If it is within my power to grant. What do you say?”

Merlin thought over this proposal for a moment. Seconds, then minutes passed by as Arta waited silently for her answer.

 

Merlin knew she was making an important decision. All her instincts were positively screaming at her to refuse the offer at once, and leave now before she did something she would regret. Arta was still weak, bedridden. She could not stop her from leaving, even if she wanted to. She could not afford to make such a huge mistake.

Finally, she looked back up--and grinned. “It’s a deal.”


	3. The Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I am so glad I was able to finish this chapter! No seriously. I really do not have enough time as it is.  
> I hope you enjoy it!  
> -M

They both slept soundly that night, well, probably more soundly for Arta than for Merlin.

The blonde girl lay comfortably, completely worn out, and was snoring slightly.

Their room only had one bed, as the inn was very full that night.

Merlin had chosen to sleep on the floor, which Arta had seemed to take for granted, as if she was used to getting the best treatment. It wasn’t long before she fell fast asleep.

So there Merlin was, on a makeshift bed she had fashioned out of her coat, her scarf, and an extra blanket she had found. It was fairly uncomfortable, but she would have felt much more awkward sleeping in the same bed as the other woman.

She stayed awake, staring up at the moon through the window, its white beams caressing the night sky.

She looked over at the other woman on the bed. The moonlight made her fair hair shine in the darkness as it fell over her still form. She looked incredibly peaceful.

Even so, Merlin couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she had made the wrong decision. Should she have taken Arta’s offer? Was it just a desperate grab for an opportunity?

Had she made a mistake?

At this point, she supposed, only time would tell.

She lay down silently, listening to the sound of nearby crickets and Arta’s soft snores, and somehow managed to finally drift off to sleep.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning came far too soon, and before Merlin knew it, someone was prodding her face with what felt an awful lot like their...their... _feet_!

She bolted upright, shoving the feet away with a grunt.

“Good morning,” Arta beamed at her from the bed, in a rather good mood, no doubt.

“Glad to see you’re feeling well,” Merlin groaned.

“I’ve felt better,” Arta reasoned. “Although that was when I had a qualified physician to help, not a scrawny girl from the side of the road.”

“Don’t make me regret saving your life,” Merlin retorted. “Oh, wait, I already am.”

She pushed herself up, drawing her coat around her body. The floor of the inn had been hard and cold, and she was not sorry that she would be on her way soon.

“So, since you seem to be feeling so much better now, I suppose I’ll be taking my leave.” Merlin stated.

Arta gave her a slightly surprised look, as though she had not been expecting this.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Merlin nodded. “I should be on my way.”

“I see…” Arta looked thoughtful. “Speaking of which, I should be on my way as well.”

“Where will you go?” asked Merlin.

Arta shrugged, getting out of the bed, and walking over to retrieve her cloak and boots. “I have something I must do.”

“What would that ‘something’ be?”

“You know, you’re far too nosy for your own good, _Merlin_.” Arta remarked wryly.

Merlin shrugged. “I work at it.”

“Then I return to Camelot. And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about our agreement.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Merlin said quickly.

Arta nodded. “Good. Because I will keep my word. You shall have your wish when I have returned.”

“So, what? Do I just meet you there in Camelot? How will I know how to find you?”

The question seemed to visibly throw Arta off, and she hesitated. “Er...don’t worry about it. I’m sure I will see you there.”

“ _Really_?” Merlin couldn’t resist. “So your pure faith will be all I will have to go on?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin complied, but didn’t stop smirking at the other woman, who merely scoffed and threw a pillow at her.

Merlin didn’t want to admit it--but she was actually enjoying herself. She was having more fun in this woman’s company than she had had in a long, long while.

Being by yourself wasn’t difficult--it was missing out on the company of others that was the true burden.

The thought of her father and of a home overwhelmed her for a brief moment. But there was no changing the past. She was on her own now, and would always be.

But for now, for this time right here--she was grateful. For a short time, Arta had made her feel like...she wasn’t completely alone. Like she had a new friend.

She grinned at Arta, and threw the pillow back. “How about some breakfast?”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arta was in much better shape, and even felt strong enough to continue her quest as soon as she finished breakfast with Merlin.

Although, to be honest, ‘breakfast’ wasn’t up to her usual standards, but Merlin had accepted the meal easily enough, and she _was_ trying to blend in, so Arta had pretended to enjoy the meal as much as the other woman had appeared to.

As for Merlin? She had departed shortly afterwards as well, a simple bag on her back, and a cheerful wave of farewell as Arta rode off on her horse.

Arta was strangely dispirited to see her leave. It wasn’t often she had another person her age to have company with, let alone someone who didn’t treat her like a princess. No, Merlin had acted kind towards her, but also with an indifference that Arta had not known before. Everyone back in Camelot treated her with respect--as they should--but it was different. Arta had her knights as well, but even with them, there was a border between them and her. The border between royalty and knighthood.

But that night, with Merlin, she had made her feel...normal. Like Arta wasn’t anybody particularly different, just someone she thought needed help.

Arta didn’t want to admit it, but she had actually found herself enjoying the unfamiliar feeling. It was new, and unusual, and she had liked it.

It was this thought that stayed with her even long after she had left the farm girl behind. She chided herself for such melancholy feelings. It wasn’t like she would never see her again. No, she had made a promise, and they had agreed to meet each other in Camelot in at least two fortnights. That should give her enough time to figure out how and where to find the sorceress, and give her enough time to return to Camelot with them, hand them over to her mother, and then think about how she would grant Merlin’s wish.

Merlin had not specified exactly where she was heading off to, but had acted mysteriously guarded. “...Nowhere.” she had mumbled as a response, ducking her head when Arta had asked her.

“Come _on_ , Merlin,” Arta had prodded her in the side. “Tell me.”

Merlin had shied away from the nudging, and Arta was pleased to see her flash her a bright grin. It was a nice expression, one which took up most of her face, and made her eyes crinkle up. She beckoned her to come close, and she did so quickly, waiting to hear the much awaited answer.

“It’s a _secret_.” Merlin had whispered dramatically, and ran off laughing before Arta could make chase.

Yes, they would meet again, Arta was certain of it. She was going to keep her word and repay her debt.

Arta rode on for a long while, farther and farther away from Camelot. She would stop every now and then in villages, make a little conversation, and discreetly question the villagers about any traces of sorcery, any at all.

Most of the villagers were very cooperative, and she tried to be grateful for their help, even if it wasn’t the most useful. A lot of them had given her ridiculous stories about the unusual profusion of wildflowers in their fields, and the plentiful harvests of their crops.

They were nothing she really saw out of the ordinary, but she thanked them for their answers anyway.

She couldn’t help but continue to feel frustrated that she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, however. High growth of flowers? Good crops? She was searching for signs of dangerous, unusual sorcery, not some good luck in farming. She continued to ride on, doubt beginning to creep into her mind.

What if there wasn’t any sorceress at all, and that report had been false from the very beginning? What if it had been from some bumbling fool who had mistaken some plentiful harvests as a clear sign of nothing but the darkest magic?

Was she undertaking this long quest for nothing?

For a few more hours, she rode steadily into deep woods, but more tension settled over her. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched, although every time she twisted around to look, there was nothing there. The sooner she was out of the forest, the better. Turning her horse away from the main road, Arta angled towards where she was sure a village would be situated.

Sure enough, she could see smoke rising over the trees. She urged her horse forwards towards it. She dismounted easily, and began to walk towards the village. With any luck, she would be able to get a better report out here. She tethered her horse to a tree on the edge of the village, and made her way in.

Upon entering the village, she quickly noticed people were huddled together in small groups, all of them chattering excitedly about something.

“What’s going on?” she asked the nearest of them, her voice ringing with authority. The villagers turned towards her, looking startled. They were probably confused by her tone, and she saw many of their eyes fall upon the sword belted at her waist. An older woman approached her, and answered her question.

“A young lass passed by here, not but a few hours ago. She waved her hand and healed our young Aeron, just like that! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Magic,” Arta glowered, but her hopes were rising, ever so slightly. There was a chance she was onto something.

“Magic,” the woman echoed, only her voice was filled with awe and wonder, as opposed to grimness. Arta frowned at her. Normally, she would have said more, but she stayed silent. These people were not her mother’s, and she did not want to cause them trouble if they didn’t know who she really was. Reminding them of the treachery of magic could have some unfortunate consequences.

“In which direction did she go?” she asked quickly, trying to keep her tone neutral, although she could feel her heart beginning to pound. She might have found a lead in her mission.

The woman frowned slightly at the look on Arta’s face, but did not comment on it.

She pointed towards the east, and Arta thanked her before turning to walk away. But before she could leave, the woman boldly took her by the arm.

“You aren’t planning on doing her any harm, are you, lass?” Her knowing eyes bore into Arta’s and she pulled her arm firmly out of the woman’s grip.

“I--”

“She helped out our whole village with her actions. Don’t you even think of touching her, or you will have us to answer to.”

Behind her, the other villagers nodded in mingled agreement.

Arta nodded hastily, and walked away, shaken. No one had ever dared to defend a sorcerer like that, especially not a complete stranger. The look on the woman’s face...it was as if she didn’t even care if it was magic or not, as long as it benefited her village and her fellow villagers. It was unlike anything Arta had been taught, and it continued to hinder her even as she got back on her horse and galloped away.

She urged her horse to run faster. If what she had been told was true, it sounded as though the sorceress was making her way from village to village.  If she was fortunate, she might be able to catch the sorceress herself, especially if she made it to the next village with haste.

She was mistaken. The story in the next village was the same, and this time she was able to even get a description: a young woman with dark hair and an easy smile. She had solved a few problems, and had moved on. But no matter how hard Arta rode away, no matter how much she urged her horse on, and how quickly she left, the sorceress still eluded her, staying at least one village ahead of her all day.

Arta was incredibly irritated by the time the sun was setting. She had envisioned having at least captured her prize by now, but she seemed to be nowhere closer with that. But as she dismounted to give her horse a well-deserved rest, she was suddenly struck by how quiet it was. There was no village around here, there didn’t seem to be one for several miles. It was eerie how still and dark it was, and Arta felt herself shiver slightly, gripping her sword tight.

She felt the same feeling once again--that chilling feeling of being watched. Only this time, she was sure someone was really there. She could feel it. She secured her horse, and removed her bag from its back. She was relieved Merlin had not taken a look when she had been unconscious. A length of rope and irons would have raised some uncomfortable questions for certain. She drew her sword and began walking forwards. Her hunter’s instincts were telling her she was close.

She slashed and hacked through dense undergrowth along the path. Nothing would stand in her way now.

Tired, breathing hard, she managed to force her way through the tightly-packed trees. She bent down to catch her breath, and looked up.

What she saw nearly took her breath away all over again. It was faint, very faint, but she could see a sort of pulsing, vividly golden light at the top of the hill ahead of her. It was almost ghostly, ethereal, shimmering unnaturally in the evening air.

No torch could make a glow like that, and she was sure there was no one besides her for miles around. No villager would be so foolish as to be all the way out there.

She smirked, and began to climb her way up.

 

She was certain of herself now. She wouldn’t fail. She would find them. Her mother did not take kindly at all to failure, and she was living proof of that very fact.

No.

No, this time, she would succeed.


	4. The Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little short, but there you go. Enjoy! 
> 
> -M

The trek up the side of the hill was tough, but it was nothing compared to a day spent training with her knights. 

In a short time, she had made it to the very top of the summit, and peered over the ledge, desperate to see the one responsible for the mysterious light. 

The figure was shrouded in darkness, and had their back turned. Squinting, she could make out long, slender fingers waving delicately through the air. She stumbled back as the ball of light she had seen before flew straight by her face, and towards the hands of the mysterious figure before her. 

Luckily, the figure had not seemed to have heard her, and merely continued to wave their fingers ever so slightly in the air. To Arta’s wonder, she could see that they were making the ball of light dance in midair, bobbing and spinning merrily from side to side. Tiny wisps of what appeared to be smoke, spiraled off it in little tendrils, flashing with gold. There was something almost...beautiful about it. Alluring. 

Arta continued to watch for a moment or so, transfixed, until she remembered what she was really there for. 

She stepped forwards boldly, and trod on a stick, which snapped loudly under her foot. 

She cursed at herself inside her head, and quickly raised her sword. 

The figure turned around with a startled gasp, the ball of light dissipating as easily as if it had been made of nothing but air. 

There was still enough light to distinctly make out their features...thick, dark hair, falling loose over their shoulders, bright eyes, a deep red scarf--

“ _ Merlin _ ?” Arta couldn’t keep the utter disbelief out of her voice. 

“A-Arta?” The dark-haired girl stumbled backwards in surprise. 

Arta simply couldn’t contain her shock. “What--I thought--you were leaving to...and now you’re--with the magic--” 

Words completely failed her as she reeled backwards, mouth hanging open stupidly. The other woman couldn’t seem to figure out what to say either. The both of them stood there, gaping, thrown off by this revelation. 

When Arta finally managed to get a better hold of herself, she blurted out, “You’re a  _ sorcerer _ ?” 

“I, um--well, I...you see--” Merlin stammered out, backing away ever so slightly. But not for long. 

Something seemed to change in her suddenly, and she straightened, her eyes gleaming with a new kind of light Arta had failed to see before; determined. 

“Yes,” she said, much to Arta’s astonishment. “I have magic. I  _ am _ a sorcerer.” 

This was not at all how Arta had expected her evening to go. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yes,” Merlin heard herself say calmly. “I have magic. I  _ am _ a sorcerer.” 

“Is that true?” Arta’s voice was low, hesitant, as if she didn’t want to believe it. 

Merlin eyed the outstretched sword she held firm in her hand. 

“Yes.” she answered firmly. She saw no point in denying her real identity anymore. It was clear Arta had seen her doing magic just a few moments ago, and there was no hiding that by this point. 

Arta, who had apparently gotten over the worst of her shock, straightened as well. Merlin’s hopes crumbled as she saw her eyes gain a steely look, unflinching and unyielding. Arta no longer gazed upon her with confusion--she now bore an expression of utter dislike and mistrust. 

Before she could even think to move, Arta’s blade was a mere inch from her undefended chest. “Don’t move,” Her voice was deadly quiet. She angled the sword so that its tip just touched the surface of Merlin’s shirt. “Give me one good reason to, and I will.” 

Merlin knew she was dead serious. She had been so foolish to trick herself into believing that this woman was not the same she had been warned about. It was all much too plain for her to see now: the strong build, the fierce eyes, the straightness in her shoulders, and the way she held her head up--she was no other than Arta Pendragon of Camelot. The legendary princess sworn to destroy all magic under Queen Uthern’s rule--including Merlin herself. 

Merlin could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her hands shaking. She had heard only too much about the princess: her matchless strength, her dedication to the kingdom--and how she never once disobeyed the Queen. 

She had no choice. 

Merlin stepped backwards, and her hands shot out in front of her. Arta only had time to take one breath before she was blasted off her feet. As an afterthought, Merlin cushioned her fall before sprinting off. She couldn’t help it. Even if Arta was a deadly warrior sent to capture her, or worse, she still couldn’t bring herself to truly harm her. 

She ran as fast as she could, hiking up her skirt in her hands as she fled. She made it only about halfway down the hill before Arta was on her heels. For someone carrying a heavy sword, the princess was incredibly fast. Merlin had made it barely a few feet more before she had caught up with her. 

Merlin did not have the chance to pull the same trick twice. Arta barreled straight into her back, sending them both crashing to the ground. Merlin spat out a mouthful of dirt, and winced. “Ow!” 

Arta’s knee pressed into her back, and she cried out as her arm was bent around. 

“Be quiet.” Arta snarled. 

“Go ahead and kill me then,” Merlin gasped out. “Just get it over with.” She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the end. 

Instead, she felt the cold touch of irons being clamped around her wrists, and was swept over by a wave of relief. Arta would not bind her if she was going to kill her right away. 

She chained her hands in front of her, and pulled her to her feet. The hem of Merlin’s skirt was covered in dirt, and she was sure the rest of her had not fared any better. 

Arta yanked her forwards by the chain, sending her stumbling forwards. She supposed she was lucky the princess was not dragging her along the ground, although she wasn’t sure there was anything else to be grateful for at the moment. 

Arta dragged her all the way to the bottom of the summit, before whistling for her horse. As if on cue, the familiar brown steed calmly trotted out of the woods as if on the way to an afternoon picnic, not to the side of a fierce, violent princess and her shaking captive. 

Merlin thought that they would leave right away, but Arta seemed to think different. She took a long look at the twilight sky, and cursed under her breath. “It’s late.” she muttered curtly, as if to herself. 

She got up onto her horse, leaving Merlin on the ground, and began to ride slowly, dragging Merlin along behind. The journey was painful, and dreadfully slow. 

Merlin began to wonder if Arta was planning to ride all the way back to Camelot with her like this. The thought horrified her, although the thought of arriving in Camelot bound like that scared her that much more. 

“I can’t go any farther,” Merlin panted, after about half an hour. Her wrists felt like they were burning, and her legs were barely able to keep the rest of her standing. 

Arta ignored her, and they set off for another few minutes. 

It was not long before Merlin spoke up again. “I mean it. I can’t...I can’t continue.” 

Merlin was now fairly certain she was going to die of exhaustion long before she even made it back to the kingdom at this rate. She was now shaking so hard, she was impressed the horse wasn’t trembling as well from the pressure. 

“Stop whining,” Arta snapped back coldly, turning back in her saddle. “You are fine.” 

Merlin personally disagreed. She was definitely  _ not _ fine. 

Her legs were stone. Her vision was blurry. She squinted, looking down. 

Had the ground always been so close to her eyes? 

Maybe if she tried to take one more step, just one more tiny step forwards--

Merlin promptly collapsed. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arta bit back a curse of frustration when she saw her prisoner fall to the ground. 

She leapt down from her horse, and walked over, one hand on her sword. 

She sighed in relief as she realized the peasant girl had not suffered any obvious injuries when she had fallen. 

Merlin clearly was not going to make it all the way back to Camelot in this state, at least, not for that night. 

Arta crouched down beside the young woman, warily gripping her sword hilt in her hand. On second thought, this could just be a trick, something to catch her off-guard. 

But Merlin’s eyes were closed, and she looked so pale… 

But she was also a sorcerer. Arta couldn’t trust just anything she saw to be the truth. 

She prodded Merlin cautiously with her foot. The girl didn’t move. 

She tried again, with more force this time. Merlin still didn’t move. 

Hang on. Was she  _ dead _ ? Could she really be that feeble? 

At this alarming thought, Arta bent lower, closer to her body. 

No, not dead. Merlin’s chest was rising and falling, just slowly. She was still breathing. 

Good. 

Arta let out a breath in relief, and stood back up. Thank God. If her captive had perished before they had even made it back to Camelot, who knew what her mother would have--

Arta froze, unwilling to finish the thought. 

She shook her head fiercely. 

No. No, she would not even consider failure. She would not even dare to think about the consequences. She  _ would _ succeed. 

Perhaps if she kept telling herself that, it might even actually come true. 

Arta sighed, and looked to the sky. It was much later than she had first concluded, and with her captive in this pitiful state, it made sense to stop and make camp for the night. Even if she was reluctant. 

She knelt down, and put her arms around Merlin, hoisting her into the air. 

The girl was rather light, which didn’t surprise Arta considering her small frame and stature. 

Her body radiated a slight heat which Arta could feel just from touching her. 

She was warm. And soft, very soft. Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, and she looked peaceful...

Arta shook her head again, ridding herself of these useless thoughts, and unceremoniously dumped Merlin’s limp body across the back of the horse, perhaps, she admitted, with a little more force than completely necessary.  She then lead the horse along until they had reached a satisfactory clearing in the woods to make camp for the night. 

She set Merlin down, leaning against a log, and bound the end of the chain to a nearby tree, deftly locking it to ensure it would not come undone. She continued to make the rest of the preparations for herself. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Arta had finished preparing a fire and setting up everything, Merlin had awoken. 

Arta had successfully caught two fat rabbits, and was just in the process of roasting them over the embers, when she heard a soft groan behind her. 

She turned. Merlin’s eyes fluttered once, twice, before opening wide in alarm. She tried to stand, but the chain did not let her get far. She slumped down, breathing hard. She caught sight of Arta looking at her efforts, and scowled.

“Where am I?” she demanded, and Arta was impressed to see the intensity of her glare at her. 

Arta merely turned away, not seeing any immediate need to respond to the sorcerer’s queries. 

“Where am I?” Merlin demanded again, louder. When Arta still didn’t answer, she began struggling, pulling on the chain, trying to dislodge it from the tree. 

Arta waited silently, knowing that the chain was too well locked-in for Merlin to do much else than tire herself out by attempting to pull it free. 

“You know that’s not going to work,” she told her, after about a minute of watching her struggle in vain. 

“Never know till you try,” was the hissed-out response. 

Arta simply waited, watching her meat roast slowly over the flames. 

Eventually, Merlin gave up, panting hard. Arta glanced towards her. The peasant girl was flushed in both cheeks, and had a line of sweat running from her forehead. Her dark hair was unruly. Overall, she had a rather disheveled appearance. 

Merlin noticed her looking, and immediately ducked her head, a habit Arta had noticed back at the inn. 

“What are you going to do with me?” Arta heard her ask faintly. 

Arta averted her eyes. “We will go to Camelot, and you will receive a trial.” 

“For which crime, exactly?” Arta heard a note of incredulousness in the other’s voice, and was appalled. 

“For having magic, of course.” Was the girl that much of an idiot? 

“And that is a crime worthy of such punishment?” 

The question made Arta uncomfortable. She had witnessed countless trials and executions in her mother’s name, and even if she thought of disagreeing with the judgement, she had overlooked it. She had always been taught that magic was nothing less than pure evil. 

“...Yes.” Arta replied at long last. “Magic is evil.”

“Magic is not evil,” Merlin’s voice sounded weary, as though she had repeated this argument before. “It is the beholder which can corrupt its power, use it for their own will.” 

“I saw you,” Arta said. “I know  _ what _ you are now. I know your kind only too well.” 

“My ‘ _ kind _ ’?” Merlin sounded incredulous again, and even slightly outraged. 

“Sorcerers.” said Arta. “Wicked users of magic. Only concerned with yourselves and the power it can give you.” 

“Not all sorcerers are evil.” Merlin protested. 

“Most are. They crave nothing but power, earned through cruelty.” Arta’s voice rose. “We must get rid of them. For the good of the kingdom, nothing more. They cannot be left to their own devices.” 

“Is that what the  _ Queen _ taught you?” Arta looked up sharply at this. 

Merlin’s voice infuriated her. It sounded slightly smug, and almost as if she was pitying  _ her _ . 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” Arta said irritatedly, angry at herself for losing her composure. 

“Seeing as how I’m the one to be put to death, I think it  _ is _ .” Merlin retorted. 

“What do you mean, ‘put to death’?” Arta was confused. “You’re going on trial.” 

“Oh, please.” Merlin dared to roll her eyes impatiently, and Arta was struck with a sudden urge to strike her. 

“You say ‘put on trial’, but I know how it  _ really _ is. You want to know why people like me don’t go anywhere  _ near _ Camelot? It is because it is like walking straight to your demise!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arta snapped. “The Queen is fair and just. I have respected her judgement for as long as I can remember.” 

Merlin dared to laugh. It was a harsh, mirthless sound, and Arta was once again struck with an impulse to beat her, anything to make her stop this vain facade. 

“Judging from your respect towards her however, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were put to death anyways,” she growled. 

Merlin ceased her laughter, but her eyes remained accusing. “So you do whatever she says, is that right?” 

Arta forced her hand to drop from her sword hilt. She was one moment away from losing herself in her anger. 

“None--of--your-- _ concern _ ,” she bit out. 

Merlin raised her eyebrows. “I see. So you just do her dirty work, is that it? Maybe you’re just too afraid to defy her.” 

She had gone too far this time. 

Arta released a short yell of anger, and pulled her hand back, ready to deliver a satisfying punch to her prisoner. She was just that angry, more angry that she had been in a long time. Who did this infuriating girl think she was? How dare she speak to her like that! 

She was the most disrespectful, idiotic, little--

She stopped. 

Merlin had squeezed her eyes shut, and had turned her head away, bracing herself for the hit. She looked almost nothing at all like the defiant prisoner moments before. Now she just looked frightened. Vulnerable. She was even trembling slightly, like a cornered mouse being hunted by a cat. 

Arta slowly lowered her hand, dropping it into a fist by her side. She would not strike the other woman. Not yet, anyways. 

She just couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

After a moment, Merlin realized she was not about to be struck, and opened her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but never got the chance. 

Arta bent in front of her, and grabbed her by the scarf, bringing her head forwards. 

She stared deep into Merlin’s crystal eyes, still bright even in the darkness. 

“Never,” she whispered, threatening, radiating fury. “ _ Never _ pretend to know  _ anything _ about me again, or I  _ will _ end you.” 

She released her grip, and Merlin swung back, gasping. 

Arta made sure the chain was secure before lying down on her blanket. Even though she turned away from Merlin, she could still feel her eyes burning into her, pondering over her words. 

They did not talk for the rest of the night. 


End file.
